What, was &quot;Rudy&quot; on cable last night?

"Fine," Eliot said. "I'll do that. You're so small I won't even throw out my back."

Trip and potentially kill them both because he didn't have a complete handle on his new center of balance, sure. But his back would be fine.

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That would certainly be a comfort to both of them as they lay dying. Hardison wouldn't go to meet his maker bitching about Eliot's back being fine at all!

"I wanna say I ain't that short, but that ain't even true. I am tiny. I'mma demand piggyback rides like I'm Parker an' make you open all the tall cupboards an' everything." Hardison rather thought he might enjoy being tiny for a weekend. So long as he could go back to being the tallest after it was all over.

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"Sure thing, Shorty." What? Eliot only had so much time to enjoy this in.

His stomach grumbled and Val yipped from downstairs. Some people were spending far too much time talking and not enough feeding their puppy, dammit!

"C'mon." Eliot grabbed the first shirt to hand -- which happened to be Hardison's -- and pulled it on. "I'll make us breakfast while we wait for Parker." The shirt gaped over his breasts. Eliot pretended not to notice.

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Hardison was noticing. Hardison was definitely noticing that. "You gonna carry me or what?" he asked. He wouldn't mind getting princess-carried all snugly against Eliot's chest.

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In a little while, Parker showed up, arms laden down with bags. "I have so much stuff, and it's not all to wear. But I did get you belts."

And mini-skirts. Some hair stuff. And so much booze. (Did Hardison's alcohol tolerance shrink with his body?)

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"Oh thank god," Eliot said. The boobs had been all nice and fun when he was princess-carrying Hardison (after the stairs, thank you), but the jiggling was even throwing off his cooking, somehow. "Please tell me you got me a sports bra."

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It almost certainly did. They'd be dealing with a Hardison drunk on mimosas and wasn't that a hilarious possibility.

"Woman!" Hardison called, having pounced on the bags and discovered the miniskirts. "Just what is this?" He held one up for Eliot to see, too.

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Parker gave him her most innocent, completely oblivious face. "Something for Eliot?"

It might fit! They couldn't know until he tried it on!

"I got you a sports-bra that can sling-shot melons to the moon," Parker said, snickering. "Also, a hair tie. Or ten. And maybe a couple clips."

She made one of the clips making chewing motions at Eliot, nom nom nom.

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"I already have hair ties, Parker." Eliot glared at the much too small bit of fabric in Hardison's hand. "I'm not wearing that."

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"But it's for you, Eliot!" Hardison said, already certain he was digging his own grave, but he couldn't not. "Parker got it just for you! Of course you gotta wear it!"

There was almost certainly something just as awful in there for him, but he was going to harass Eliot anyway, and hope to put off his own capitulation for as long as possible.

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"You should just at least try it on so you can see if it fits or not." Parker was nodding hard.

Yes, there was a dark red pretty version of this in there for you, Hardison. Just wait.

"I always have to wear the girl stuff. You guys don't, and just once you should at least try it on. You don't have to take it out of the house."

She pulled out the bottle of tequila. "Also I got the booze."

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Eliot was totally going to end up drunk and wearing a miniskirt before this day was over.

Not that he'd figured that out, yet.

"You're an actual girl, though," he pointed out, gesturing with his paring knife. "All I want is somethin' I can wear that makes these --" pointing to his own chest with a knife was an awesome idea, shut up, "-- stop wobblin' around and throwin' me off every which way."

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At least he wouldn't be alone? Drunk, miniskirted, and probably getting laid.

In short, an excellent day, if a weird one.

"They are very wobbly," Hardison said. Helpfully. "I offered to hole onto 'em, but apparently that's some kind of 'cookin' hazard'."

"But it's cool if you don't think you can pull off a skirt as well as Parker can. Is this some kinda newfound modesty thing?"

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Yeah, that was Parker cackling, and looking for margarita glasses. Niiiice one, Hardison.

"I'm as much of a girl as you are a girl right now," she added to Eliot. "Sometimes it's a little fun to be pretty but mostly it's a pain, and leggings don't have pockets, and finding shoes that are good for sneaking are a pain if you're male or female, so." She shrugged, and then beamed. "Hardison gets chocolate first."

Maybe bribery would help with putting Hardison in a miniskirt, too?

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Really? They thought that was going to work?

"Of course Parker can pull it off better'n I can, I'm not actually a woman." It was not a blow to Eliot's ego to not pull off wearing a miniskirt, no matter what his body was shaped like at the moment. "I don't even wear guy's shorts outside of a ring."

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They could hope! Could he really blame them for wanting to see him in a tiny skirt? With those legs?

"I think you're sellin' yourself...short," Hardison said with a grin, biting into a candy bar that Parker had brought home. "If there was any weekend for you to not do that, dontcha think it should be this one?"

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"Aren't you even curious?" Parker wheedled, getting out some chocolate-covered almonds for herself. "Also what are you cooking, and where is your blender?"

Iced margaritas for everyone! - And a boomeranged bra to you, Eliot.

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Eliot caught the bra and pointed to a cabinet with his knife. "Blender's over there. I'm makin' bacon and pancakes." Neither of which required a paring knife. It was just comforting holding the damn thing. He set it aside and started taking his shirt off so he could pull the bra on. "And no, actually. I've never been curious about wearin' women's clothing."

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"See, now I just wanna go to Baltimore an' see how many dudes hit on you like this," Hardison admitted, sitting down at the table and stretching his legs out. They didn't stretch anywhere near as far as they normally did, boo. "An' why not? Too much time spent takin' 'em off other folks? Lost all their mystique?"

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Excuse Parker while she blends ice and tequila and some of those limes she found in the fridge.

And then stops to listen to Eliot's answer, because Curiosity.

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"What 'mystique'?" Eliot asked. "They're clothes. Damned impractical ones, at that." He shrugged, adjusting the bra straps a few times before actually reaching in and tugging his breasts up to settle them better in the cups.

Oh. That was way better. He bounced on his toes once to test, and they hardly jiggled.

"And anyway. I already tried it once."

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The chocolate bar hit the table. "Details." Hardison demanded.

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And a slushy lime-flavored margarita for you, Hardison. Also a 32C soft cotton bra, and a sports bra, 'cause she wasn't sure how picky you were.

"When was this?" Parker asked, curious. "Was it for a job?"

Hmm. Maybe Eliot's alcohol tolerance had changed too?

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Enough of the rest of Eliot's body chemistry had changed that it was entirely likely his tolerance did, too. Which, considering he'd stayed roughly the same size over all? He hadn't thought of.

Eliot shrugged, pulling Hardison's shirt back on, but not bothering buttoning it up. "It was back in my army days. It was a quiet night on base, bunch of us got bored and kinda drunk, a couple of the women volunteered to loan us some clothes." He looked over at Hardison. "What, like you've never worn a skirt?"

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